I blink three times—which sometimes helps lull me out of my fantasies. Dylan and the room are both still here. “This can’t be real. The house, the scholarship…” I walk over and squeeze his bicep. “You.”
He looks down at my hand and licks his lips. “I assure you, Morgan, it’s all very real.”
“So I just go to class, work on my projects, and live here?”
“Yes.” His eyes are an intense ice blue and are both intriguing and unnerving at the same time. “One of the stipulations of the scholarship is that dinner must be eaten by all residents together—daily—no exceptions. The meal will be prepared and served in the dining room. If you have specific dietary needs you’ll just need to leave a note on the board in the kitchen. The cook will take care of it.”
“So everyone that lives here will eat together?”
“Yes. It’s a way to foster companionship and creative inspiration between artists. Now that you’ve arrived, we’ll have our first meal this evening.”
“Our? You’re one of the students?” I ask. I don’t know why but I didn’t think he was one of the residents.
He leans against the door frame and I get a better view of his long, lean body. “Yes. I am. Does that surprise you?”
I look around the room and settle my eyes on the window and the magnificent view outside. “I’m beginning to expect the unexpected.”
Chapter 3
Dylan
I exit Morgan’s room and the composure I’ve held since she arrived falls away like a sheet. I inhale, catching my first real breath in minutes. She has no idea of her power, of her effect on me and eventually, the others. I assume they’re already aware of her presence in the mansion, and if they aren’t, they will be soon.
I head straight to my room, needing a minute to myself. My suite is directly above Morgan’s and it’s like I feel her alluring presence the instant I walk in the door.
My quarters do not exactly contain a studio—more like a library or artifact room. I’m the historian of our select little group and today is noteworthy, and before the day’s end I’ll document it extensively.
Morgan has returned to the nest.
I’d hoped she would recognize me, and for a brief moment in the reflection of the mirror, I thought she did. I’d known her memory was severely impaired. I just wished there would be a spark of some kind.
I sit at my desk and pick up the sheath of papers Morgan submitted with her application. Her writings implied the memory of her childhood was still intact—that the power she possesses is still flowing through her veins. It’s up to each of us to help reveal the memories, and it will be our duty to help her control that energy.
Leaning back, I close my eyes, reliving the past hour. Morgan is no longer the girl under our protection. She’s a woman that has come into her own, just as we always knew she would. Beneath her disheveled humanity is a beautiful woman—I’d let that slip during our tour. If given the chance I’d say more. I’d comment on her passionate eyes, her sensual lips. I’d reach for the slim curve of her neck. The charm of protection rests between the swell of her breasts and it’s clear she has little idea of her effect.
She’s still a virgin, that was apparent first off. Crossing that barrier will be both necessary and dangerous. Mythologically speaking, Morgan’s power comes from her heart and body. Taking care of her is of utmost importance; showering her with affection, providing unconditional support.
In the past this was forgotten—to great destruction. We know better. We understand her heart as well as her mind. Her innocence will make her first days here even more precarious. The others…they’ll have a hard time staying away from her soft skin and alluring flesh. Although our fates are intertwined, Morgan must be the one that determines our destiny. Our future depends on her.
I stare out the window. We aren’t the only ones aware of Morgan. Her innocence and power.
That’s why we’ve brought her here.
Chapter 4
Morgan
Besides the suitcase I traveled with, I do have other belongings. I sent a few boxes ahead and they were waiting for me in the closet of my suite. Dylan showed me where he stored them, told me he would be on the third floor in his rooms, and left me to unpack.
It doesn’t take long until my closet and dresser are filled with clothing. The bathroom cabinets hold all of my toiletries. The biggest hassle is the box of books and mementos.
Like many authors, I started writing as a child and I’d filled dozens of journals with my ideas—most about Maverick and her ravens. I’m carrying a stack of these books from the bedroom to the studio when I trip over the coffee table, dropping the stack with a clatter against the hardwood floors and howling in pain.
I slump to the floor, holding my busted toe, when I hear footsteps racing down my hall. I look up, expecting to see Dylan but instead find a smaller, absolutely gorgeous man coming my way.
“Are you okay? I heard you scream.”
“Yeah, I’m just a bull in a china shop.” I grimace at my swollen toe. “Whoever thought it was a good idea to put me in a classy place like this may be crazy.”